


Viktor Nikiforov 2.0

by Talle



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Established Yuri Plisetsky/ Otabek Altin, Fluff and Crack, Gen, I poured my blood sweat and tears into this, Implied Relationships, M/M, Poor Yakov Feltsman, Yuri Plisetsky is a Brat, i may have also sacrificed my soul, please take this seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 03:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19098442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talle/pseuds/Talle
Summary: Yuri had a phase okay?





	Viktor Nikiforov 2.0

**Author's Note:**

> Whoopsies, I guess I accidentally may or may not have let my hands slip for an hour!
> 
> ٩(^‿^)۶

It’s 3am when Yuuri and Viktor’s phones ring simultaneously, signifying the abrupt end to what was supposed to be a rather intimate night. For a moment they both stare at each other, considering the worth of ignoring whoever had decided to call, but it’s Yuuri’s “responsible adult” brain that reasons the potential for an emergency.

The pair flip over, groaning in frustration as they reach for their designated devices. Viktor considers throwing his out the window, and opens his mouth to suggest such idea, when the Cyrillic alphabet catches his eye in time.

“Yakov is calling me.” He says, blinking at the screen.

“So is Lilia.” Yuuri responds.

The couple exchange a thought between a look, and to anyone that’s familiar with their rather hectic lifestyle, they’d know that there’s only one reason for everything’s happening.

Yuri motherfucking Plisetsky.

 

* * *

 

Viktor isn’t a man who holds many grudges — just three in total. The first is for his parents, something he refuses to spend even a second thinking about. They’re not here and they never will be; he doesn’t care.

The second was the woman serving him at Starbucks, who had miraculously lived a life not knowing who he was. She had spelt his name with a ‘C’ instead of a ‘K’, thus ruining the perfect photo of his Frapalapaccino, but Yuri had insisted it only made it better, even willing to admit the powerful jealousy he felt when the barista claimed she’d never heard of a Viktor Nikiforov before.

“I wish I’d never heard of a Viktor Nikiforov before.” He’d snorted.

The third grudge that Viktor could recall, was probably the worst of the worst, and really, even Yuuri could agree.

What had gotten the Russian skater so worked up? Well, the answer was currently sitting right in front of him, leopard print suitcase at side with the most pleased smirk on his face.

“Yuri, explanation. Now.”

The teenager merely snorts, shrugging his shoulders as he welcomes Makkachin into an embrace, ruffling the dog’s curly fur in amusement. “Waddya want?”

Viktor is taken aback from Yuri’s rounded accent, the syllables aren’t strong, sharp consonants and instead feature a resemblance to Yuuri’s own, tinged Russian.

“Yuri?” Yuuri asks, and then raises an eyebrow as the blond groans.

“Kay, Kay…” He grits out, folding his arms over his chest. “So started when I went up to Mila yeah? I said ta her, Mila, ya bloody shelia, chuck me a ciggy as I deadset beat these mongrel eshays at the pokies! And then the bloody woman said—“

“Ciggy?” Viktor cuts him off, loss written all over his face, “Eshays?... Pokies? Are… are you drunk Yurio?”

“AINT MY NAME!” Yuri screeches, shooting a glare towards the older skater, “And no, I ain’t a bloody idiot, we had ta fly and they ain’t got booze up in the air.”

“You flew? With Mila? Where’d you go?” The question slips out of Yuuri before anymore could be said.

“‘STRAYA MATE!” Yuri squawks seriously, “LAND DOWN UNDA! Oh ya shoulda seen it Vikta, them dunnies have TWO flush buttons, TWO!”

Makkachin lets out a small boof in excitement as Yuuri and Viktor exchange a look.

Really, they should be used to the shit the little shit has pulled, especially after he’d come back to their place one day and announced that he’d “casually gotten married to Beka in Vegas two days ago”.

Yuri really was turning into a younger, more hormonal Viktor, and Yuuri was terrified; he already was married to one — he didn’t really feel like adopting the other.

“You went to Australia.” Viktor summarises, and suddenly Lilia and Yakov’s phone calls had started to make sense.

“Already said that you dumbo.” Yuri rolled his eyes, “So anyways I told Mila she was being a bloody idiot and went to woop woop, pissed up and all that sick shit and shared a couple cold ones with the mates.”

“You got DRUNK?!” Oh how could Yuuri recover from the thought of his precious, innocence, baby child—

Yeah never mind.

Viktor leans across the empty space to Yuuri, observing within his peripheral vision as Yuri distracted himself with his phone, waving it around with pictures on the slightly cracked screen.

“Is he speaking English still? It’s not Russian… maybe a really offensive attempt at Japanese?”

“- AND THEN I SAID, YA BLOODY ESHAYS ARE COMMON PEASANTS AND YALL ARE BENEATH THE DIRT. So I stole their doonas and told em to piss off.”

Yuuri stares eyes wide, raising a hand up childishly to speak. Yuri notes his movements, rolling his eyes before kicking his feet off of their coffee table.

“Them aussies know all bout you.” He says slowly, and it catches them both off guard. “Fuck me dead, Vikta, the bloody bogans keep going off about your fuckin pashin with your drongo on live telly — can’t even catch a break out in the bush!”

“Well it’s nice to know we have fans that far away.” Viktor frowns, a finger pressed to his lips in thought, “But how did you end up here?”

“Eh?” Yuri rolls his eyes, “Bloody Sheila stole my grub and Yakov was notified by the airport that ‘an out of control teenager was in need of assistance’ so blame Mila not me.”

“Grub?” Yuuri has honestly lost all hopes in understanding, but decided to indulge the boy once more.

“I think he’s doing the weird cussing thing again.” Viktor mumbles.

“Oi Vikta, katsuki, piss off ya bloody wankers… and imma hangry — let’s get maccas.”

There’s a moment of silence that follows. Confusion. “Makka’s what?” Viktor asks, eyeing the poodle nearby. There’d barely been any reaction in response to the dog’s name.

“Maccas food? I just said I’m bloody hangry, or ya deaf too old man? I wanna eat maccas.”

“YOU WANT TO EAT MAKKACHIN?!” Yuuri doesn’t process what he’s saying, he’s just screaming at this point as he runs to protect the dog.

“YOU SAVAGE ANIMAL!” Viktor has the audacity to throw a shoe at the child, “WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?!”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Yuri dodges the shoe with a horrified expression. He takes in the fluorescent colour before eyeing the very pointy heel. “DID YOU JUST CHUCK A STILETTO AT ME?!”

“YUURI HE’S BARBARIC! PROTECT THE DOG!” Yuuri doesn’t need telling twice before poor Makkachin is scooped up and being carried away from the scene and Yuri watches on as they retreat to their room in haste.

 

* * *

 

“It was a terrible dream.” Yuuri shudders, brushing a few stray hairs from Viktor’s face. It had been the middle of the night when he’d awoken, heart pounding and chest constricting. He was on the brink of tears. He’d also felt guilty for waking his husband until the warm comfort of a hug had been placed upon his shoulders.

“Wanna talk about it?” Viktor offers, pressing a kiss to his head. Yuuri sighs contently before nodding, fingers fiddling with the blanket.

“We were having a really nice moment.” He mumbles, feeling the blush form on his face, “and then we got a phone call from Yakov and Lilia…”

Viktor sucks in a breath and Yuuri pauses. Had he said or done something wrong?

Just as he turns to ask about the odd behaviour, their bedroom door slams open, a loud repetitive sound banging as pots and pans clatter together. He screams, but the yells can’t be heard over the deafening chanting.

“STOP PASHIN AND SMASHIN AND BUY ME BREKKY! I WANNA EAT MACCAS!!!”

Yuri jumps onto their bed as Viktor’s face cringes at the commotion.

No. It’s too much for Yuuri. He doesn’t want this anymore. With the strength of 1000 suns, he tears the pots and pans away from the teenager and throws them out the door, uncaring as to where they’d land and the damage they’d do. “THIS HOUSE IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!!!” He screams, and Viktor pops a bottle of vodka.

No one declines a swig.

**Author's Note:**

> The End.


End file.
